Deep Sea Embers chapter 347

Chapter 347 Silent Cathedral

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com

The infamous and dreaded Mist Fleet had finally arrived, launching a full-scale mobilization. This ominous armada had long been perceived as a constant, looming threat by the inhabitants of Frost, and its arrival signaled a shift in the frosty tranquility that had prevailed for the past fifty years. The fleet was the enduring legacy of the Frost Queen and the seemingly immortal specter of the significant rebellion that occurred half a century prior. Towering in the frigid waters of the Cold Sea, the fleet resembled a massive, ice-encrusted monster. Its frosty and unyielding exterior concealed the enigmatic intentions of its undead pirate commander.

Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of history was aware that the successful rebellion, known as the Frostbite Rebellion, half a century ago and the victory of the ragtag group of rebels over the dominant Queen’s armada was not a result of “justice” or “protection.” The only reason for their victory was that the Queen’s most formidable primary fleet was not stationed in Frost’s archipelago at that crucial time.

The mystery of why the Mist Fleet had departed remained unanswered, much like the undisclosed truth the Frost Queen had discovered from the depths of the ocean. Only one fact was common knowledge: the fleet was still functional and active under the Queen’s name.

For five decades, the formidable Mist Fleet had haunted the northern seas, appearing and disappearing like an apparition. Numerous attempts were made by different city-states to dismantle or reclaim the fleet, all of which ended in failure. Despite the devastation caused by the cursed warships piloted by the undead in the Cold Sea, most encounters with them were settled with a tribute to avoid further destruction. This “protection fee” seemed a more compassionate and economical levy than the severe losses resulting from a direct confrontation with the Mist Fleet. The northern city-states were more inclined to pay for peace than risk settling the debts incurred by the Frostians half a century earlier.

However, the Frostians were all too aware that the Mist Fleet was destined to return one day. This notion had morphed into a sort of curse, even a “prophetic legend” that was passed down to each generation: The rule of the Frost Queen over the city-state was not over as long as the flag of the Mist Fleet continued to flutter. The engine of the Sea Mist ship remained active, signifying that a reckoning for the great rebellion of the past would inevitably befall the city.

The impact of these inherited curses and legends was significant. The menacing shadow of the Mist Fleet grew more and more dreadful under the influence of these narratives, and even the most experienced and disciplined soldiers could not disregard the increasing pressure.

Holding a document in his hand, Lister’s grip tightened, causing his knuckles to whiten with the gravity of the situation.

As he finished speaking, a chilling and indescribable silence pervaded the entirety of the bustling dock as if the cacophony of activity had been abruptly muted.

The defense commander was well aware that there was no point in concealing any information about the Mist Fleet. The colossal flotilla was brazenly sailing in proximity to Frost, drawing steadily nearer both the Frost mainland and the isolated Dagger Island. By tomorrow morning at the very latest, inhabitants living near the coast would merely need to push open their windows, gaze southeast through a telescope, and they would catch sight of the ghostly outlines of the ominous fleet. Word of this unsettling development would rapidly proliferate throughout the entire city-state.

“Could the sudden emergence of the Mist Fleet be linked to recent events on Dagger Island?” an officer close to the commander suggested, “Could it be connected to the unexpected arrival of the ‘Seagull’?”

“I wish the two events were interrelated. That would mean we only have a single problem to grapple with,” Lister replied through clenched teeth, “but the more dire probability is that we’re dealing with two distinct crises…”

Another officer, known for his loyalty, queried apprehensively, “Could the Mist Fleet exploit the existing chaos? Given that Frost is currently under threat from an unidentified force…”

“Judgments at this stage would be premature. Carrying out our orders must take precedence,” Lister interjected swiftly, curtailing his subordinates’ rampant conjectures, “Commence the blockade immediately, transmit martial law signals to the surrounding city-states and to all vessels in the vicinity, and ensure all coastal defense artillery positions are on high alert… We could be in the midst of a substantial predicament.”

…

In the core of the Frost city-state, as is the norm in many maritime city-states, a grand cathedral towered over its surroundings, occupying the loftiest and most central spot.

The local denizens referred to it as the Silent Cathedral, or simply “the Cathedral.”

This imposing, ancient edifice was constructed primarily from varying shades of gray and black bricks. A complex of spires and slender structures constituted its main body. On days when the winter snowfall was particularly heavy, these intricate, overlapping spires created a hazy image against the snowy backdrop, reminiscent of grave markers and obsidian blades shrouded in mist, pointed heavenward.

Visitors to Frost experiencing the cathedral for the first time often found its aura rather gloomy and intimidating, bordering on the terrifying. However, to the Frostians, who predominantly revered the god of death, Bartok, the somber cathedral signified only grandeur and sacredness.

The locals held a belief that the profusion of cathedral spires served as a bridge connecting the realm of the dead and the world of the living. During the days of heavy snow, the envoys of the death god would secrete themselves among these towering spires and rooftops, vigilantly watching over the city-state with their omniscient gaze, guiding the aimlessly wandering souls back to their place of eternal rest.

Consequently, the Frostians marked the first day of heavy snowfall as the “Day of Departure for Long-Lost Souls.” On this day, they would shutter the graveyards, halt rituals intended for the newly departed, and clear the path for the long-lost souls to navigate their way to the Silent Cathedral.

Today was such a day, marked by the relentless onslaught of heavy snowfall.

The surrounding burial grounds were shut, and the cathedral became exclusive to the clergy, barring entry to the general populace. As a result, the snow-blanketed paths of the courtyard were unusually silent, so much so that one could distinctly discern the soft sound of snowflakes descending from the tree canopies.

Donning a broad-brimmed hat and clad entirely in black, Agatha navigated past the gate of the cathedral’s courtyard, proceeded through the audience hall, and journeyed deeper into the hallowed confines, eventually reaching the serene sanctuary of the meditation chapel housing the bishop.

In accordance with the religious tradition in Pland, Frost also divided the highest ecclesiastical spokesperson’s responsibilities into two roles – the “Gatekeeper” was tasked with maintaining the city-state’s security and managing worldly matters, while the bishop primarily undertook clerical duties and facilitated communication with higher divine entities.

Within the meditation chapel, candles cast their wavering glow from numerous niches densely packed along both walls, the collective illumination from countless such flames rendering the room conspicuously bright. At the far end of the chapel stood an elevated stone platform devoid of statues or seating, hosting only an antique-looking black coffin.

This was the residence of the city-state’s bishop.

Mounting the platform, Agatha cast her gaze downwards and announced, “I have returned.”

Her words were met with silence from the coffin.

After patiently waiting for a few moments, Agatha elevated her voice, “Bishop Ivan, have you been informed about the Mist Fleet?”

Yet, the coffin offered no response.

Frowning, Agatha cast a sweeping glance around before finally raising her staff to rap on the coffin, “Are you present?”

After striking the coffin thrice, a raspy, elderly voice finally emanated from within, “Yes, cease your knocking, exhibit some respect for your elders.”

Agatha retracted her staff, “…Were you slumbering while engrossed in meditation and prayer to the god of death?”

“I was so absorbed in my meditation that the voices of the mortal world failed to reach me.”

“Yet, your snoring managed to permeate the coffin and resonate in the mortal world.”

“Ah? Was it truly that loud?”

Agatha heaved a sigh, “You were undoubtedly asleep, Bishop.”

The voice inside the coffin abruptly fell awkwardly silent. After a few moments, the stillness was broken by the faint noise of friction as the obsidian coffin lid slid open marginally, revealing only a slim gap. The elderly, grating voice became somewhat more audible, “Your mind is awash with tumult, Agatha. It appears that the situation in the city-state is far from ideal.”

“During my return journey to the cathedral, I was notified of the Mist Fleet’s approach towards the city-state,” Agatha spoke deliberately, “I fear this news will soon…”

“The predicament of the Mist Fleet should be left to the concern of the navy and the municipal administration. Your priority should be to maintain the equilibrium of the supernatural realm and foster tranquility within the city-state,” Ivan Romonsov, the bishop of Frost city-state, stated from within the coffin, “Let’s first discuss the circumstances in the city-state.”

Agatha acknowledged with a nod, momentarily shelving the news about the Mist Fleet while her expression took on a grave demeanor.

“There has been an emergence of a new ‘primal element’ contamination site at the location of 42 Fireplace Street. Based on an array of indicators, it seems an imposter comprised of ‘primal element’ had resided within that building for an extended period, only to disintegrate and vanish recently. Moreover, a civilian, who was unmistakably subjected to cognitive manipulation, was found at the scene…”

“Cognitive manipulation?” Bishop Ivan interjected Agatha’s narrative, “What manner of cognitive manipulation?”

Agatha took a moment to structure her thoughts before elaborating, “Upon cross-referencing the local residential registry, it was unveiled that the person whom the imposter was impersonating had in fact perished in a shipwreck six years prior. Yet, during the period of the imposter’s activities, the female apprentice cohabiting with it failed to recognize this glaring discrepancy. She was under the impression that her mentor was recuperating upstairs when the imposter disintegrated, and by the time the investigators reached the scene.”

Pausing momentarily, Agatha resumed, “Furthermore… our findings were not confined to just these.”

“Not merely these?”

“An unidentified third-party force, seemingly possessing tremendous power, appears to be delving into the primal element matter as well. Their warriors eliminated two formidable heretical priests in a neighboring alleyway, and their reconnaissance team searched the building prior to the arrival of an elite group of our guardians. Regrettably, we discovered no leads, nor were we able to trace the origins of this third-party entity.”

The coffin descended into silence, and after an indeterminate duration, Ivan’s voice resonated once more, “Is there additional information?”

“Yes,” Agatha took a gentle breath, “Do you recall the ‘visitor’ that surfaced in Cemetery No. 3?”

“…Has it manifested itself again?!”

“Yes, it has reappeared, and not only has it emerged, it also left behind a… ‘correspondence of report’.”